


Doe

by ADarkandMagicalForest



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/M, L will not die, Light loses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADarkandMagicalForest/pseuds/ADarkandMagicalForest
Summary: 'Jane Doe' is known as a multiple-use name that is used when the true name of a person is unknown or is being intentionally concealed. In the context of law enforcement, this name is often used to refer to a corpse whose identity is unknown or unconfirmed.
Relationships: L/Original Female Character
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	1. Jane or J

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* * *

**_Wammy House_ **

**_Back Then_ **

_Jane Doe or J_

* * *

She was the oldest child to be left at Wammy's in many years.

The girl couldn't've been much older than thirteen, given the size of her. They ran her dental records when they had the ability to, which usually was a sure-fire way of identifying someone - but unfortunately to no avail. However, given that she appeared to have all of her adult teeth in place, thirteen was a good bet of her age.

But that didn't exactly settle the concerns of those who now found themselves caring for the child.

It wasn't impossible. The Girl could have simply taken extremely good care of her teeth once gaining her adult set, garnering no need for a dentist visit.

But it most certainly was implausible - and extremely suspicious, especially when it came to light that she was suffering from memory-loss.

As a young girl in a strange place, the child shrank away from any adult who approached - confusion fueling fear as they spoke. She did understand and speak English, but refused to say anything more than short phrases when prompted. It was times like these that they wished they had a woman to turn to at Wammy's - but with nothing else to be done, and a concerning mystery regarding the amnesiac girl, her situation was handed over to L, a boy who had recently shown a proclivity towards solving such interesting mysteries.

The girl had allowed them to take a photograph of her, and, after gentle coercion on Mr. Wammy's part, he managed to take her to a nurse who owed him a favor, to perform a few tests.

On a Jane or John Doe's body, one could only be so lucky to find a discerning mark to identify them. A particular tattoo, a scar, a birthmark. Corrective surgeries, implants, they were the most useful identifiers to a Doe if their dentals were non-existent and their faces didn't give a match. However, with young children, this was made much more difficult. Not only did the likelihood of these identifiers lessen, but a child could be made to look entirely different in a very short amount of time.

Luckily, their Jane Doe had scars. Most of them were shallow and already fading. Scraps and cuts made during play, on her elbows and knees. Except for one, most strange scar, on her left hand.

Ominously, it was a thick, white line wrapped around her left ring finger. It was wide and though pale white, was disturbingly recent. It was enough reason to warrant an X-Ray, where they discovered that her finger had at one point been severed and then later reattached. This lead to several more extensive X-Rays, revealing the horrible truths that the girl had blocked out of her mind. Her left leg had two previous breaks in it, just below her knee. Like something had smashed, hard, on her leg. A car crash was a possible consideration. A newer vehicle could have crumpled around her, if she was in the front seat of a car. Or, given the state of her left hand - a person with a large foot could have stomped on her leg, to keep her pinned beneath.

Unfortunately, her previous injuries weren't the only thing that suggested physical harm.

The photo taken on her first day in the House, had shown her to have brilliant red hair. Not an unusual sight in the UK, even if the hue was particularly vibrant. However, the longer she lived in Wammys, the red began to fade, and blonde roots were revealed sprouting from her head.

Her clothing from the day Jane was left at Wammys had been taken and replaced, and were given a _thorough_ investigation. L had been fascinated by the garments, because they were not only new, but brand new. Bizarrely, no fibers not belonging to the garment were on it, nor were any hairs not belonging to the girl herself. They were never laundered before, but there were no discernable tags or labels on them. He would have thought they were made specifically for her, if not for the fact that the pale, green dress was a full size too big for her. A ribbon had been used to cinch it to her.

Her memory loss wasn't a surprise, if his suspicions were correct.

If it was true, that is.

L had been almost fifteen at her arrival, and a week after she had first arrived, he had decided to introduce himself. He'd waited until the rest of the children shuffled away into their classes, leaving her alone. She was often found in the dining room - an interesting choice, given the playroom was just two doors away.

"Hello there. What's your name?" He asked immediately upon entrance. She'd been asked this twice before by both Roger and Mr. Wammy and had given neither of them an answer - but they were adults, strange to her. He was nearer to her age. _Perhaps she'll answer me._

But no luck there. The girl looked up at him hesitantly. No, she wasn't afraid. She was frustrated and confused. She shook her head.

"You don't know your name, or you don't want to tell me?" He asked anyway, ignoring her demeanor.

Her face twisted with upset, and to his surprise (and rapidly growing alarm), her eyes began to well up with tears.

L had never been so close to a crying girl before, much less a girl who _he_ may have made cry. It had sent an alarm through his young brain, forcing him into silence as he attempted to adapt to the vision of her raising her fists and roughly wiping at her big, weepy eyes.

"That's alright if you don't know your name. There are other ways to learn your identity." He'd said stiffly, staring as the girl began calming herself with shuddery breaths. He remembered wondering if it was appropriate to touch her shoulder, if that's the sort of thing _you did_ to comfort someone in tears, but instead chose the safer option of merely stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Until we find your name, you will be known as a 'Jane Doe.' Do you know what a Jane Doe is?" He'd felt the inclination to speak _more_ and slightly louder too. The girl hadn't spoken yet. He wanted her to, it was easier to question a speaking girl than a mute one.

"An unknown lady." 'Jane' had eventually whispered in a soft, girlish voice.

 _Close enough_ _,_ he thought immediately at her answer. In another instance, he might have said that out loud, but the previous vision of her tears had him on edge. "That's right." L replied before turning and reaching for a few of plates from the Wammy's china cabinet.

As he moved, Jane watched him curiously, her tears paused as her wary, navy eyes followed him around the room. He was carrying the delicate china with just his fingertips, and L set up two place settings like that, carrying the silverware and napkins just as delicately. Only the large, two-tiered frosted cake which made Jane's eyes go wide, he'd used his hands for.

"So, Jane." He said, placing the cake in front of her, looking down at her large eyes. "Tell me the first thing you remember."

From that day on, the case of Jane Doe remained as L's standing, long-term case. And, her mysterious arrival and retrograde memory loss made her far too interesting to send away, not that Mr. Wammy had any heart to.

Jane adapted with only a few hiccups.

Placement tests and quizzes told them that she had never attended school past a 3rd grade education, a bizarre addition to the budding geniuses around her. Thanks to the curriculum they offered however, after a month of residing in Wammy's, her knowledge skyrocketed as she devoured the information given, sending her to a middle school level (though, she was still behind the other, lightning-fast students of her age, technically leaving her two grades behind.)

The longer Jane remained, too, the more words they gained from her, until eventually she blossomed.

Long gone was the frustrated, crying girl. She was replaced by a daring, stubborn and creative young teenager, prone to intense debate and wrestling in the front yard (which, midway into her second month at Wammy's, gave her an unfair advantage, as she'd unexpectedly sprouted three inches taller).

Proving her daring, on the eve of her fourth month at Wammys, he arrived home late from a case in Edinburgh and discovered that his bedroom was open - with Jane hidden inside.

"How come you're never here?" She asked. She'd been laying in wait for him for who knows how long, sitting on the floor next to his unused bed, a sucker in her cheek and the tools she'd used to break in laying innocently beside her. By that time, her red hair had faded peachy, sprouting from golden-blonde roots.

L stepped over her outstretched legs and climbed into his desk chair. "I have more cases to solve now." He answered her.

"Why can't you solve them here?"

"System connections, really." L replied honestly, before looking pointedly at her candy.

Jane got the hint and dug into her shorts pocket, throwing him a lollipop. To his disappointment, it was lime. He stuck it in his mouth anyway.

"So what was your case like?"

"Uninteresting." He'd replied, turning on the computer on his desk, the blue screen lighting up his rarely-used bedroom.

"So, the butler did it?" Jane asked, her words melding with the sound of the hard candy clacking against her teeth as she switched which cheek it was in.

"The butler? There wasn't any butler in the Teller Case." He'd actually looked at her then, and was gifted a pink-stained smile for it.

"Y'know, in Clue? 'I think the Butler killed the maid in the library with the candlestick!" She exclaimed, pulling the candy out of her mouth to mimic the action of hitting someone.

"Oh, it's a game." He'd replied, turning back to his screen.

"Yeah, it's a _mystery solving game._ You'd probably be awful at it." Jane teased, bringing her knees up, causing more stowed-away lollipops to tumble out of her pockets.

Looking at her had embarrassed him. He'd understood that her words were playful, meant to urge him to join in her games, as the occasional child would when he lingered in common areas, but he'd reacted _differently_ when prompted by their Doe. Normally, he would have politely declined. But with Jane, he wanted to kick her out of his space and force her to go to her own bedroom across the house. The farther the better.

 _How novel_ , L thought. He was unusually thrilled and repellent.

As the months followed, the mystery of Jane's identity became a game for some of the younger children once it had come to a lull for L. Especially so once two very interesting children joined them. A and B.

A had seen the signs just as L had, but had gone no farther. He kept his opinions quietly to himself.

B, however, was more willing to be outwardly blunt, and wondered aloud, well within earshot of Jane, if she been a victim of child sex trafficking, given her injuries and memory loss when she arrived. The words had sent Jane to her room, where she remained until the morning, where she proceeded to pretend that the conversation had never happened.

The longer L was away from Wammy House, the more changes in Jane he missed.

According to Roger, she enjoyed reading fiction (a confusing mash of pulp-y Stephen King, cowboy westerns and allegory heavy horrors). Taking toys apart (to see how the mechanisms inside worked.) Cooking with whatever ingredients were left out in the kitchen - and melting things with the matches from the fire place.

Their Jane Doe could've been the only normal child in Wammy House, and maybe for a good half mile (at least compared to the likes of his growing successors who had never even _heard_ of John Wayne). But while she would never be in the ranks of future investigators as the others at Wammy's, she certainly had a gift (if subtle) that made L believe she had a place in their field. Jane had the impossible-to-teach, yet common, gift of speech. Her strong will and nature of kindness made her easily _trusted,_ a skill that many of them could never hope to gain, even with how simple it was.

"L? What're you doing down here?" Jane said once he had wandered down into the kitchen, looking at him with surprise. A lingered there with her, sitting at the high stool at their tall table, twisting and turning a Rubix cube in his hands.

It had been a few years since her arrival. She was now 'fifteen'. Himself, seventeen.

He didn't answer her right away, instead wandering close to where she stood at the stove, peering inside. She was making dinner that night, rather than Roger - it was a savory onion, meat and pea sort of situation, something traditionally British. _Something out of Wammy's cookbooks._ "I do live here, don't I?" He'd replied, straightening his hunching back, not finding what she had in the pan particularly appealing.

"Well, yeah. But weren't you just given a new case in Brazil?" Jane replied, just before Mr. Wammy's egg-shaped kitchen timer went off with a cheerful _'ding'_.

"I was, yes." He confirmed, taking a step out of her way as she reached towards the oven, pulling out a skillet that was covered with a layer of golden pastry. L watched interestedly as she hefted the hot cast iron onto the counter, before placing a plate over top and giving it a swift flip.

"So," She grunted, wavering slightly with the weight of the pan before setting it down. "What're you doing down here? Are you having dinner?" She wondered, her attention though still on her pan as her oven-mitt covered hands lifted the pan up, revealing a caramel colored tarte tatin. The aroma of the apples and cinnamon overpowered any other in the kitchen, and L weighed the odds of his ability to pass on dinner but still enjoy the dessert. _35%_.

"Actually, I wanted to ask for your help for this case." He answered, lowering his head to appraise the tarte from the side. "Did you make this pastry yourself?"

"Wait, are you kidding?"

"No, I think it looks really good."

Jane let out a short, bark-like laugh and shook her head, her slightly strawberry blonde hair falling further out of the haphazard bun on the top of her head. "No, not the pastry, the case! What do you need my help for?"

"Honestly, I just need a woman to come with me." He responded. "Rio's local police don't currently employ any women, and even if they did, I wouldn't involve them - they appear to have been bought out. I'd rather just bring a woman I already trusted - also I would like a slice of this without needing to eat dinner, may I?" L asked, hovering a single finger over one of the still-steaming apple halves that looked the most intact and shiny.

"You're gonna get burnt if you try that." Jane warned.

"What do you need a woman for?" A asked very quietly from his place at the table, his voice barely above a whisper. His Rubix cube was solved, and his gentle face was worried.

"Tell me I'm not bait." Jane demanded drolly, bouncing off A's concern.

"You aren't bait. You're a mole." L replied, touching the apple, only to flinch and retreat. He'd miscalculated - it _was_ hot.

/~/

Just as it had been in Brazil.

The case in Brazil had tapped into something that kept his attention.

The local police _were_ corrupt. Local boys were going missing in Rio, and it was clear to the city that a particularly powerful person was responsible. It must have been, because even after the fourteen year-old son of a local politician disappeared, the police hardly even put _posters_ up.

So, they'd reached out to L.

The Alvarez family had quite a lot of information already, with their reach, and had their lawyers forward along their suspicions as soon as he'd agreed to take it.

Juan Del a Cruz was a local businessman in Rio. He owned several fronts, most of them being a version of dance or private, very exclusive gentlemen's clubs. He also had his hand in a few other businesses, being a monetary supporter of several powerful men, including a larger name in the police force. The Alvarez claimed it was Del a Cruz because it was rumored that the man had been known to try and cater to increasingly stranger clients in his gentleman's clubs - the last rumor being that he needed several young men to join him for a private party the day before the Alvarez boy disappeared.

Given the - _sensitive_ \- nature of the case, and his suspicions which had become borderline worries for what he knew of retrograde amnesia, L had kept the information he gave Jane to a minimum.

"Oh man, I've never felt a climate like this before. It's so _warm."_ The blonde said pleasantly, dropping her bag on one of the two queen beds before hurrying to their large window. "Do you think we're high enough up?"

"Do you think you'd survive if you fell?" L had asked back, attempting to mimic the playful comfortability that she had so easily. He wasn't sure if it had landed as well.

"Nah, I'd go splat for sure." Jane had replied with a smile, and he remembered looking at her then for far longer than he normally would have. He'd been interested by the way the bright, Brazilian sun had flowed through her hair and turned her skin, for a moment, warm and glowing.

"If you're satisfied with that, please come away from the window." He'd said after feeling his pulse quicken oddly.

"So what hole am I going in?" Jane said, a confident smile twisted on her lips.

"You'll be placed as a waitress at the Del a Cruz Flamingo club. He attends several times a week, and I'd like to learn about him outside of the local rumors."

The blonde retrieved one of the papers he had, this one being a part of the local newspaper, a small black and white photo of the Flamingo club printed there. The paper was in it's original Portuguese - a language that Jane had never shown a knowledge for before, but the onset of understanding that shined through her dark blue eyes proved otherwise. _Another interesting development,_ he'd thought, mentally tucking this piece of information away to add to her currently stagnant file.

"L, this place is a _strip club."_ She said, good attitude vanished as she waved the paper towards him, as if he didn't already know what was written on it.

"Is that a problem for you? You won't be a dancer and you'll only have to be there when our suspect is."

Jane had pinked then, and tossed the slip of newspaper away into the air, like it had offended her, and acted as if he hadn't just spoken, instead rooting around in her luggage.

"If you don't tell me what's wrong, how can I be expected to fix it?" He replied, curious now, especially as her blush reached her ears. That familiar urge to _find out_ itched over his skin and he was tempted to pry the bag from her hands, in order to more properly question her interesting behavior.

Jane let out a dismissive _(embarrassed, why?)_ breath, tossing the grey sweater in her hand onto the floor - the pink had subsided from her face, but she still remained stubbornly silent.

"Jane." He prompted again.

Fully flustered, but pretending not to be, the blonde glared with embarrassment towards him, a grimace in place. "Aren't there - it's a _strip club,_ L, the girls there are gonna be..."

 _Ah._ His mistake. _"_ I didn't realize you were uncomfortable with nudity, I apologize. I will readjust where to place you."

"Wait. You're just going to - to change the whole plan, just like that?" Jane's voice, which had been tight and uncomfortable changed then, flowing into a soft and unsure tremor. Her emotions so often switched on a dime...

"Of course. Placing you in a scenario that made you feel unsafe or uncomfortable will make you more likely to be found out. It will be simpler to place you somewhere else... It may actually be better, I believe the reception of Del a Cruz' building are hiring new maids…" And, the grateful look on her face was doing interesting things to his chest. He'd been pleased to settle her anxieties - (pleased that to do so, his plan ultimately didn't need to change).

The case moved quickly enough after that. A few days after placing 'Maria' into Del a Cruz' lobby, the man had been found out. Half of the local police were on his payroll and the other half being threatened. But after the blonde had recorded a partial phone call regarding a 'private, special auction for rare collectors', she'd stumbled on, the Federal Brazilian Police had no qualms of stepping in for the locals.

He'd had to send Mr. Wammy along, going by the name 'Senor Ramirez' for the case, where he would carry a laptop and act as if he was taking direction from an interested buyer overseas (while actually, the laptop had taken in video of every person who dared make the mistake of showing their face).

The Federal officers swarmed the building of the Flamingo Club, and Del a Cruz, as well as six of his clients and the attendants, had been placed behind bars.

For a first case, Jane had been useful - she appeared soft and quiet, thanks to her nerves quieting her. It was promising, suggesting that in time, she could perform the same act in the future.

"I thought Mr. Wammy always comes with you on cases, though." She said, after the case was over and when he informed her of his thoughts. She was folding the pieces of brightly colored clothing, made of silks and chiffons, local dresses and things that she'd purchased while there in order to more effectively remain hidden in the crowds, the brilliant colors against her making her look more bold and striking.

L scooped a spoonful of the caramel colored flan he'd ordered and watched it jiggle in place, so he didn't need to look at her. "I have no intention of replacing him. But there are certain roles that he just can't fill. Having a woman available on certain cases like this is just more convenient."

"Thanks." Jane replied dryly, wrapping a large, silk handkerchief around her shoulders as if testing it's warmth.

"You're welcome." He replied, his words muffled as he'd stuck the spoon in his mouth, his gaze following the movement of the orange silk against her burgeoning sun-kissed skin as she pulled. "Consider it, you may end up being known as 'J.'"

* * *

**_reviews are welcome_ **


	2. A is for Adam

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* * *

**_Wammy House_ **

**_Back Then_ **

_A is for Adam_

* * *

"Are you going to accompany L on more cases?" A asked her, the morning after arriving late the night before.

"I dunno. I think so - he mentioned having a girl on hand to put into the field was useful to solving the case. But then I wouldn't be here to watch out for you guys, do you really wanna get rid of me so much?" Jane teased the red-haired boy, scuffling his neat hair as she passed by to retrieve the juice from the fridge.

"We would understand." A said seriously. "Helping L solve cases is paramount, above all else. It's a great achievement."

A little unnerved by the young boy's attitude (geez, he was only nine) Jane let out a half-hearted chuckle and handed him a plastic cup filled with his juice. For the moment, they were alone - but the small ginger was always early to mealtimes. It wouldn't be long until the others joined them (however, with how she left L last night, she didn't expect his presence. He hadn't slept the entire time they were in Brazil _or_ on the jet ride back to Winchester. The dark shadows under his eyes had been bigger than Prada's).

"There are other important things." Jane reminded gently, before turning to the stovetop and proceeding to prepare that mornings breakfast: today, oatmeal.

"Like what?" A whispered to himself - she looked back, prepared to say something; when other children began to litter in, each of them making a different type of noisiness.

The girl frowned, but shook off that strange feeling of wrongness. A was a good kid - he'd be alright until dinnertime.

/~/

" _Are_ you leaving again?"

Jane let out an alarmed yelp at the sudden sound of B's voice.

She hadn't even noticed him come into her room - a strong achievement, given that she distinctly remembered _locking it_ after sneaking away inside with the intent of doing personal research.

B was older than A, even though he was L's second successor. A boy of thirteen, but tall, taller than even Jane. He had short, cropped brown hair that didn't match his quickly maturing, awkwardly narrow features. As if proving his growth spurt, his clothes looked both too short and too tight on him, like he was some kind of funny spider.

"I told you to knock, B, what the hell are you doing in here!?" Jane snapped, irritated even more as her jump had caused her to smack her knee against the corner of her desk.

"I'm here to get an answer to my question, J. I thought that was obvious, as it was the first thing I said here." B said dismissively, before making his run through.

B liked to _look._ An investigator through and through, but when he did it, it always made her feel off and exposed. Like his eyes saw more than the other kids, than even L, did. His gaze wandered over her bed (crumpled up and used), to her single nightstand (equally messy with a few bottles of nail polish and a pair of earrings that she'd bought with L in Brazil), her tall standing dresser (a few of the drawers ajar) and to the socks on her floor. The final thing his eyes devoured was her screen.

"Investigating for yourself?" He asked.

On her screen were some of the most famous unsolved cases in the world. Jack the Ripper. The Zodiac Killer. The Black Dahlia. They were the most eye catching and obvious unsolved cases in the world, with all of them catching the public eye and the time, and yet still remained unsolved thanks to how old they were. It was 'baby's first Unsolved Cases'. Easy speculation for no reward.

"Not exactly." Jane replied, turning in her chair so as to block the screen with her body.

But that was worse - now B's investigative eyes were on her, probably noting every crease, crinkle and stain on her clothing.

"So. Are you?" B repeated again, only once his once over was completed.

"That depends." She said shortly, lifting herself and adjusting which leg she was sitting on - the pins and prickles distracting her, for a moment, from B's poignant gaze.

"On what?"

"If L asks for me again. If I complete the exams on schedule."

The brown-haired boy considered this, lowering himself down onto his feet and knuckles, giving a thoughtful hum. While there, he lowered his head to the ground, looking at the darkness underneath her bed. Jane hoped there wasn't a monster underneath it - it would've surely become terrified, seeing B looking straight into it's home.

"And the Unsolved are in service to completing the exams?"

"B, get off my floor." The blonde ordered, finding her limit on his searching when he attempted to stick his head under the wood frame.

The younger teenager obeyed unenthusiastically, slowly raising himself back up to his hunched standing position, expression revealing his displeasure at having been given a direction. B never liked any instruction he disagreed with - especially from Jane, who more often than not was put in charge when the adults were indisposed, thanks to (besides L) being the eldest one there. Even without his strange mannerisms, it was his irritation at following her directions that worried her the most of all...

The first day she met B, he'd discovered her 'Doe' status easily. And once it was revealed that she was one of L's paused cases, he acted as if it was a challenge. He'd done multiple concerning things, besides questioning her intensely at every opportunity, he often lingered in her bedroom when she was away; He'd attempt to collect her hair and blood, whenever her back was turned or when she'd accidentally cut herself on the kitchen knives... He'd even stowed away in the towel cupboard when it was time for her shower, to 'more closely observe the scars' she may not have recorded in her file.

There was no shortage of strange behavior at Wammy House, it was true. But after the last incident in the bathroom, B had been forced to speak with Roger.

Jane didn't know what the two of them talked about, but she was sure that B had had his proverbial ass handed to him. Hell - this was the first time that the boy had approached her since then. Because it was about L.

"I'm sure I'll be joining L on cases where he requires someone to be in the field. Maybe he won't need me on his next one - maybe he will. Like you, B, I'll probably have to just wait on his call." The blonde uttered, regarding him still with a guarded gaze. B may have been younger, but she was no fool.

"And if A or I were to succeed him?" He said this lightly - but it could hardly be considered breezy. No, it was more like he was testing the waters.

"We'll cross that road when we get to it, B."

Smartly sensing that he'd crossed a barrier, B retreated, reverting back to his unaffected persona. "Thank you for answering my questions, Jane."

/~/

Dinner.

Tonight was supposed to be Roger's cooking, but he got caught up late with his purchasing paperwork for Mr. Wammy.

"Do you have everything you need? If not, you can borrow the car, if you promise to drive _carefully_."

That garnered a mischievous snort from the teenager, whose last experience with Roger's car had been narrowly avoiding a telephone pole. "Not to worry, Rog! I'll drive 5 under the speed limit, promise." She retorted pleasantly, flipping through the new cookbook that Mr. Wammy had left for them. It was white, patterned with pale, blue _fleur-del-lis_ and the lettering was a cheerful cherry red. "I think we just need meat and stock, unless you consent to me getting the red wine for this?"

Roger chuckled lowly on the other end of the call. "I have a bottle you can use - but be sure to follow the recipe Jane."

"Ok, ok, I will. Are the keys in the regular place?" Jane inquired with a smile, pleased and mentally preparing herself to sneak her first sips of wine without letting the busy adult know.

"No, they aren't. If you enter into the garage, on the wall, the spare should be there. _Be_ careful."

"Absolutely will, thanks Rog." And so, setting the old phone on it's holster, Jane prepared to get her prize winnings. She shrugged on the nearest coat that fit her from the hanger and snuck outside, trying to do so while not letting any of the other kids know, just in case they caught on (and they probably will, the hyper-intelligent jackasses) and wanted to ride along too, which she definitely would've done if she thought she could get away with it (there was no way she would).

No, the only person she wouldn't have gotten beef for taking with her probably would've been the big L himself, who had left again to take on another case, this time in America.

Still, clambering down the driveway and past the swing set, Jane's eyes took a wandering look at the window that belonged to L's bedroom. She'd broken into his room dozens of times when she was younger, right when she'd begun to open up at Wammy's.

She sort of had a fascination with him.

It was easy to understand why - he was the first person who she ever trusted when she was placed on Wammy's doorstep. She'd been too skittish, to hesitant, too on edge, with Roger and Mr. Wammy. They'd tried their best to calm her, lowering themselves to her level, speaking calmly and quietly, offering information about themselves - but to no avail. It was only when L, a kid hardly much older than herself, came to question her that she'd relaxed.

Because he'd been weird. So weird, so out of place in that elegantly decorated dining room, with it's shiny glass windows and carved, wooden furniture - he taken her off her guard.

He'd been so pale, his hair so dark, matching only the black color of his eyes.

L had gotten her speaking, not just phrases, but full sentences. After the disaster of tears that had effectively ended with the other teenager naming her, he asked her dozens of questions, each of them stranger than the last, before finally giving her a cool, absorbing look. That expression was almost always on his face when they spoke - it was a look that many of the other kids there tried to copy and replicate - but only his was done so skillfully that she didn't mind it (or maybe she'd just adapted to it, the memory-less Doe that she was, the same way she had with genius-growing Orphanage that was Wammy House that she'd taken to living in).

So, a couple times, she listened at the bedroom door that she knew was his - she never used to know when he was there and when he wasn't, so she'd press her ear against the wood and wait to see if she could hear movement there - and if she did, she'd knock. If she didn't, she'd try and pick the lock on it, with bobby pins, sewing needles, anything she could get her little hands on at the time.

Once, she'd broken in using the ink holding portion of a ball-point pen. She'd shoved the weird plastic inside, and wriggled it, up down - and to her amazement, it had opened. She thought she'd succeeded...

Instead, L had merely opened the door on her - he'd been quietly staring at his computer screen, and she thought that he was out.

"Again?" He'd asked - not angry, but with his usual vision of utter neutral monotone, if piqued with amusement, though he hadn't been smiling.

Embarrassed, but stubborn and confident enough to believe she could get her way out of this, Jane had fallen back on her ass and let her ink-stained hands fall in the hole that her crossed legs made. "My lip gloss rolled under your door."

"Did it?"

"Yes, it did. Look for yourself." Jane retorted, slowly moving her legs up to block out her chest.

L did look - he lowered himself down, crouching as was typical, and turned so he was just in front of her, looking from her eyelevel into his dark bedroom, brushing against her side while doing so, as he was still much bigger than her. Taking advantage of his turned back, she'd moved her hands to her overall pocket, where said lip gloss decoy lived - only to find that it's familiar tube shape was _missing_.

But Jane's philosophy was to _never_ admit that you've been caught. She bullshit'ed her way in, and she could bullshit her way out. "It's over there." She pointed to a vague direction, around L's unused bed.

L's expression turned with an amused air and came all too close to her, their faces hardly five inches apart. "Are you certain about that, Jane?"

"Positive." She insisted, immensely proud when her voice didn't waver.

"Then please, feel free to go retrieve it."

"But you haven't invited me inside." Jane replied quickly - a bit too quickly, she recognized - but there was nothing to be done now. He'd already known that she was lying - but her excuse... He'd taken it. That was why he'd brushed up against her, on the same side that she'd kept the strawberry gloss. Somehow, he'd pickpocketed her without her even feeling it.

"Yes, entering in without permission would be seen as rude, wouldn't it?" L asked innocently. The pretense was over - so, she turned around, so she could face him from the farthest point while still staying in his doorway.

"If I knew you were here I would've knocked." Jane revealed reluctantly, taking a lock of her fading pink hair and abusing the ends of it.

"Would you? And what were you trying to talk to me about?"

She hadn't really wanted to talk to him about anything particular. Of the conversations they'd had after her case had grown stagnant, and other, more pressing ones piled onto L's plate, they'd maybe spoken a handful of times, and it was often for only a few minutes. Jane had wanted to talk to L because she wanted to - and that was that.

"Are you going to pick Adam to be your successor?" She'd decided on.

Adam - now A, the first ever of L's successors. He was a bright, brilliant, if introverted and nervous.

Jane fumbled into the garage of Wammy's, unlocking the door and pushing the raveling metal upward and over her head, the metal tap-tap-tapping as they clacked close. With it gone, it revealed the row of pristine, British cars that she had the happy decision to sneak off and joyride in - the Rolls Royce was looking _particularly_ tempting that evening, with it's shiny black paint and petite silver figurine above it's grill.

That tiny little woman with wings was what made her decision - Roger would never know she took the Royce instead of the sedan.

Lucky her that he kept all of the keys in the same place.

Jane crept over to the smooth, black ride, about to look hopefully inside at it's leather seats and cup holders - when she noticed it was already running. It took a second - but yes, underneath the sound of the kids upstairs, running and talking and discussing, she could hear the smooth motor purring quietly.

"What the - " She muttered, cautiously approaching the car, memories of the time she read 'Christine' breezing past her as she came up alongside the beauty. To her surprise, A was laying in the backseat - she could only _just_ make him out from the windshield, thanks to all the other winds being heavily tinted for anonymity, but there was no mistaking that ginger hair.

The blonde was about to knock on the window, to laugh and ask if A was planning on being a little stowaway - when she moved. By changing her position at the car, she gave herself a new angle to peer inside of the car.

And at this angle, she could now see A's face.

His eyes were half closed. His mouth was open. He was on his side and no matter how long she stared, she couldn't see any motions of his breathing.

Because he was dead. A was _dead._

/~/

The funeral was short.

Mr. Wammy and Roger had him buried at a local cemetery and allowed whoever wanted to say a few words for him to do so - there hadn't been too many. The other kids had drawn a kind letter for him, with each of them signing it in crayon, pen, marker, whatever they had on them. It was a sweet card - even L signed it.

Jane couldn't say anything - probably the same way that the adults couldn't say anything.

A was only nine years old. And he had committed _suicide_. She, like the adults, were confused and heartbroken and she, of all of them, was truly devastated. She just didn't know why he didn't try and talk to her. There would have been nothing in that world that wouldn't have been ok for him to tell her - but instead, he'd chosen not to. Was it her fault? She knew he seemed wrong at breakfast. Like he was lost - but she'd dismissed it - but how could she ever have known that he would do this?

Her mind only raced like this at night - was there something she could've done? To help Adam, to make sure he knew that he had someone in the world to help him. So he'd know his feelings were ok, that he could share anything with her?

Did any of the other kids think this way?

Looking at them, during the day, no. They were kids, they acted like kids (if with a few added quirks and the ability to list fifty digits or whatever of pi).

It was the successors of L, who didn't act like true children, like the others. A had been unique, quiet, demure - and more fiendishly intelligent than he looked. B acted more of the part - the genius, who knew your next move before you did yourself. But he was also older than A. He was quicker, he was more confident - he acted. But did that mean that B was less likely to - to kill himself - than A was? That he was merely more likely to act, more likely to reach for his goals? Was the heavy title of L weighing on that boy too?

Would L lose his second successor so soon after the first?

Jane didn't know - but she couldn't allow it if there was even a 1% chance. Even if it was B.

She redressed - it was now nearing the witching hour, that evening after A's funeral. She slipped her robe over her pajamas and exited out into the hallway - it was pitch black, but she knew her way to B's bedroom, she'd had to call him down for meals often enough...

The stairs squeaked more the more quiet she tried to be - so she ignored it in favor of slipping down as quickly as she could, before eventually reaching the second floor - where, at the very end, was B's room.

"B?" She knocked hesitantly on the wood with her knuckle, all too aware how late it was - and how much she really disliked talking to the boy with his invasive stare. "Are you still awake?" He usually was, this late. The boys who were his neighbors were always talking about how B's late night talking to himself kept them up past their bedtimes...

In fact, it was weird that he hadn't opened the door immediately after she'd knocked - or after she'd whispered to the door.

_Perhaps he was really asleep,_ she thought. Then, it's grimmer sister thought, _or maybe he's already dead._ That thought propelled her - she tested the door handle - it was locked. She deftly picked it, not even bothering to care that she'd got it open on her first try, so quickly.

"B?" She whispered again, pushing the door open.

To her relief, he wasn't dead. But he also wasn't _there._ The window was left open, the cold air breezing in the room. B was gone. And just like that, in a single week, L had lost both of his successors.

* * *

_**comments, favs and follows are welcome, thanks!** _


	3. The Cat Burglar Pt. 1

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* * *

**_New York City, New York_ **

**_Back Then_ **

_The Cat Burglar - P.1_

* * *

_Three months_ , Jane realized with a hollow, guilty feeling in her chest as she pushed around her food in the dining room one Tuesday afternoon. It had been about three months since A's death - and since B ran away without a trace. They'd tried looking for B for awhile, but it was clear that he didn't want to be found. Roger and Mr. Wammy both had tried to sit her down in the last few months, attempting to start a conversation with her about their shared loss of A, and to a lesser extent, B - but Jane had remained silent, a shadow of her first days at Wammy's. What was there left to say? What could she even do, after this?

_Be better next time._

_Make it up to A - pay more attention, act faster._

She _was_ the oldest, her sixteenth birthday was just around the corner - Jane was no stranger to playing 'babysitter.' It wouldn't take much to keep a closer eye on the younger kids - even those who appeared to be on the road to taking up the mantel of 'L's successor.' It didn't even take much convincing for Roger to let her take a few rounds around the House for him, either - he didn't really like children that much, he favored the quiet all too much.

He'd taken on lunch duty, while doing his normal rounds during the quiet hours so that Jane could still continue her studies in class (and keep a subtle eye out for possible successors who rose above the others, L be damned).

One such boy, who was still too young to be seriously considered as successor material was a boy who had arrived a few weeks ago. He was on the smaller side, even considering his age, complete with a sprout of very thin, fair hair on the top of his head - and yet, he was running through the children's material quicker than anyone had expected.

He was sitting alone in the dining room that day - she couldn't remember the name he was given by Wammy - and was very delicately folding his napkin, creating dozens upon dozens of folds over itself. His plate still held his lunch, completely untouched, and Jane frowned, before picking up her plate and joining the kindergartener.

"Hey, you don't have to eat that." Jane sympathetically informed him, concern growing as she noted just how thin he was. On the five-year-old's plate was a crust-on peanut butter sandwich, courtesy of Roger. It hadn't moved since it was put there, even as the lunch hour moved on and more and more kids finished their food and traveled outside to play; The sandwich had remained completely untouched.

"There wasn't anything else left." He explained shortly, his voice hardly above a murmur - she had to lower herself down to hear him.

"I can make you something else." Jane replied dismissively, waving her hand before picking up his plate and then, after considering his demeanor, she offered him her hand. "Let's go to the kitchen together, you can help me."

The boy hesitated, looking at her hand with a mixture of that typical, little kid-shyness, and true nerves. But Jane held on, waiting - until finally, the boys pale hand slipped into hers, and allowed her to lead him into the kitchen.

/~/

" - I think it would be best that she had a break! You haven't seen her recently, Quillsh, she's stretching herself so thin, it's no wonder that she's fallen behind on her schooling here! She watches these kids like she's their Mother, a girl her age should never have this sort of pressure on her shoulders!" Roger.

"I understand how you feel, my friend - and I can't tell you how much it warms my heart to know that you care for her so... But the cases L has recently taken are no environment for a sixteen year old girl to be in - " Quillsh.

"L is only two years older than Jane - to say that he can handle these cases despite his age while refusing to even _consider_ Jane - !" Roger retorted hotly, being unusually on edge for the entirety of this call.

"Roger, will you allow my input?" L interrupted, dropping a sugar cube into his coffee cup, waiting for the expected, tersely spoken:

"Proceed."

He took a long sip from his coffee, considering the way he would phrase his thoughts to the older man. Then, "I'm not against having Jane join me on cases - on the contrary, since I found her position on Alvarez-Del A Cruz case to be of great use to me. I just haven't had another opportunity for in-field work since then. I've been able to complete many of them from my hotel rooms remotely." L placed his coffee down, finding it not sweet enough. "However, just before this call began, I decided to accept a case from officials in New York City's Guggenheim Art Museum - a thief has been swiping works, one per night, since Sunday evening."

"How much have they offered for you to take the case?" Quillsh asked - of course, he had already seen the case come through, and already knew the answer.

"800,000." L decided to relay the truth - curious though, as to why Wammy believed it was worth mentioning.

"So you _will_ take Jane to New York with you?" Roger asked, his tense voice relaxing back to being merely 'strained.'

He picked the glazed strawberry from the cream-tart he had and twisted it, watching the glare from the monitors wash over it's hard-sugar shine. "Yes. If she agrees to accompany me, that is. While these aren't violent crimes I'm investigating, I can't write off every possibility of danger towards her person when faced with a criminal." L tossed the strawberry into his mouth, the ripe fruit and sugar-glaze exploding inside with sweetness. "If you'd like, I can invite her now. You'll only need to put her on the call."

There weren't really downsides to bringing Jane to a case like this, he figured, flicking the green berry top onto his saucer. After all, their Doe _had_ done well in Rio, doing as he asked without much protest. With her assistance, they'd more easily and quickly insured the arrests of several human trafficker's, all without her age really being a concern (besides that short time he was considering placing her as a mole within a Gentleman's Club, which he understood now was a misstep on his part). There could hardly be an opportunity for something like that regarding a New York City Museum.

Besides - he had enjoyed having Jane accompany him.

Unlike Wammy, who had primarily a distant, though somewhat Fatherly, butler/handler-esque role, Jane was closer to his age. They had known each other for years, and were friendly when left alone together. If he was going to say anybody was his friend, it would be their Doe who would take that cake. He had felt a kind warmth for the girl for some time now, enhanced especially after Rio - it took some deliberation to identify that feeling to be what friendship felt like... L had a growing fascination for what other emotions being around her could inspire - it too, was an experiment for him to take interest in, and yet another reason to allow the girl to accompany him for this case.

"Jane is currently in the kitchen with our new arrival - the boy, Nate, er, _Near_." Roger said. He had no fondness for Wammy's use of pseudonyms.

"Patch her in through the kitchen's telephone." He said, picking up his tart by the doily underneath.

"Very well - one moment, L."

/~/

"One ham and _American_ cheese sandwich, hold the mustard, with homemade mayo - and absolutely no crusts. Bon Appetit." Jane recited, placing the plate in front of Near, who was crouched in one of the kitchen stools.

He'd been watching her bustle around the kitchen, and had been prompted to tell her exactly what he wanted to eat, which he'd been very hesitant to do - until she reached for the peanut butter jar. Then, he explained more confidently what ingredients he wanted, raising his voice came to a more easily heard register when he'd been forced to speak over her clinging and clanging.

"Thank you, Miss Jane." Near said, a wash of that little-kid shyness returning as he removed his hand from his hair to pick up one of the triangles.

"Hey," Jane said, smiling down at the boy as he began eating. There was something that could have been almost A-like in him, but it was something less sensitive somehow. "Near, don't call me Miss. I'm a kid here just like you. It's just Jane, ok?"

"My name isn't Near." He rebutted. And before she could quiet him, "It's Nate."

"Do you know why Rog and Mr. Wammy gave you a new name, _Near?_ " The blonde asked, trying to remind herself that this boy wasn't a grown up, even as he looked at her with those hyper-intelligent grey eyes.

He considered her, looking all too adult again, and she wished for the shy little boy to return. "I understand - I just wanted you to know what my real name was." Near replied, taking a drink from his glass of milk.

And then, the kitchen phone began to ring - interrupting any response that she could have countered to the all-too intelligent five year old who had begun hungrily eating his ham and cheese sandwich now that their conversation was effectively over. So, allowing it to drift away, Jane put her back to Near and picked up the phone.

"Good afternoon, Jane. Roger and Wammy are also on this call." L's neutral baritone came through the speaker without any other pretense.

"Uh, ok then." She said slowly.

"Would you be available to join me in New York this evening?"

"What? _Tonight_ , are you joking?"

"No, I'm quite serious. I need your help regarding the Guggenheim Art Museum - it's a matter of high importance." L did sound serious - but then again, almost everything he said sounded serious when he spoke in that rumbling monotone. Even the few times he'd tried mimicking her teasing when they were in Brazil - she almost believed him when he said he once knew someone named 'Six' and 'Seven', who ate 'Nine'. Still, she hesitated, turning her head so she could see Near in the corner of her eye, who was acting skillfully like he wasn't paying any attention to her conversation. _Smart ass_ , she thought.

Jane twisted back, cupping her hand over the receiver, as if that would keep the boy from continuing to listen. "What's the case?" She murmured.

"New York is suffering from a serial art thief who has been taking one piece of work every evening, and they have been for the past two nights. Sending Wammy or a museum employee as a mole would either raise more eyebrows than needed or be completely redundant." He answered promptly.

"Can they even count as 'serial' if they've only struck twice? Isn't three the rule of thumb?"

"That statistic is for murders." L corrected. "However, I have reason to believe that our art thief will be making their 'serial' third theft by this evening."

"What makes you think that? And for that matter, what makes you think this is one thief, and not two who happened to steal from the same museum?" She countered, turning swiftly to begin pacing shortly around the small area in front of the stove, causing the long phone line to wrap itself around her.

"If this were two thieves, and not one, why would the second follow through with their plan after a well-known theft had occurred, in the middle not only of a formal investigation, but during a time where security and cameras are doubled? A hired thief, or even common criminal times their thefts during times where their site of choice would be most abandoned. This thief is choosing to not only steal during this time of heightened security, but is doing so multiple nights, all still without evading capture."

"You're impressed." Jane accused as he spewed his walls of words at her.

"I'm interested." He corrected.

"A case that interests the teen-detective L, that has no murder, trafficking or bloodshed. That's a rarity for you, isn't it?"

"It is," L's baritone answered, muffled now though - he must have just shoved a pastry in his mouth. "Do I have your answer?"

Near set his empty glass of milk onto the counter, it's 'clink' redirecting her attention to him. She frowned, considering as she twisted the phone cord around her hand, matching the scar on her left ring finger with the beige twirls. "How long do you think we'd be there?"

"Until our thief is caught." She heard him chew, and Jane could barely restrain herself from making fun of the gurgling sound his throat made over the phone. "I would say... 49 hours, if you get onto the jet right now."

"Right _now?_ "

"There's no need to pack. I can have some things picked up for you." L bypassed her.

"But Roger - " Jane began to blurt out, only to be reminded that he was also on that call by him interrupting her with:

"The children will be safe and well under my care, Jane."

"But, the _car_ will _-_ "

"A taxi service will arrive for you at 1:30." Mr. Wammy also interrupted.

"I - I," She attempted, her brain moving much more blearily as she reached for another excuse, ANY excuse. But to no avail. She'd been beaten. So, "I guess I'll meet you there."

"Done." And he knew it too.

_/~/_

**_45 hours and 23 minutes_ **

/~/

By the time the both of them arrived in New York, their art thief had just struck again, stealing a Picasso, three hours before they'd committed the two previous thefts.

L hadn't expected the thief to change the time of striking - 8:30 was an extremely risky time to attempt any large scale theft in a high-trafficked area like Manhattan, on top of the added security measures that had been put in place. Even with the risk, however, not a single suspicious person or persons had been seen. There was no footage of the theft. No hair or fingerprints left behind. It was infuriating that it occurred before he could even arrive, or give further instructions to those who'd hired him.

It was almost like the thief knew he would arrive, and was forced to act sooner to avoid being caught.

"L, I know you're pissed about this cat burglar and all - but if we do not eat something right now, we are both going to wither away into nothing, and this guy will walk away with the whole goddamn modernist gallery." Jane griped as he watched the fast-forwarding footage of the last four hours at the latest burglary scene.

"This hotel has room service, order whatever you like." He replied, not bothering to look away. _One moment the painting was there, the next it was gone. These came directly from their security team, so either the security officer either is in on these robberies or our thief had access to these tapes_ _already..._

"And when's the last time you ate something that didn't have whipped cream on it?" She countered. Interesting, that her newfound protectiveness apparently included himself.

_There_ , _in between 8:53 and 8:54. Gone just like that, hardly even a glitch in the footage except..._

"By your silence I'm gonna guess _never._ I'm gonna order something for you too though, and you're just gonna have to get off your sugar high to eat it." Jane muttered irritably, taking the offered room service menu - her poor mood a side affect of their cross-Atlantic flight and her empty stomach (which is why he was largely ignoring it - that, and _there had to be a glitch, a mistake._ You _may not make mistakes, but if you have anyone at all working beneath you, they would. You're far more cautious than the common thief, so even when bringing in others to the fold, you would never tell them the full extent of the truth. They wouldn't take the precautions that you would)._

"Do whatever you wish." He replied dully, rewinding the past five seconds again.

_You're a professional, someone on hire within the Underworld. But you aren't currently on contract - you're doing this for yourself. But why strike evening after evening, how does this benefit you? If you wanted to, you could take what you wanted in one fell swoop, but you are choosing to make a fool out of this museums security systems. That makes me hesitant to believe this was an inside job at all, no one in charge of the Guggenheim would want to have their names ridiculed like this..._

_So who are you?_

"So, what molehill did you need me in anyway?"

He finally turned away from his screen, the video paused on the only damming frame in the entire 4-hour footage. A very small, dark triangle had appeared in the corner of the frame for a fraction of a second. All the proof he needed to say that their thief didn't work alone.

Jane was sitting on the bed on the left, already dressed in her night clothes and was in the process of putting her messy, honey-blonde hair into a weak bun on the back of her head. He narrowed his eyes at her hands as they arranged her hair, the same fingers were able to skillfully break into the locked doors in Wammy House. She was hardly the ideal cat burglar, by any definition - although light on her feet, she was prone to cursing when making mistakes or especially after minor bumps and pokes. She'd once crushed her finger in a doorway, and thusly taught all of the children at the House to say 'shit'.

But then again - a leather bodysuit would look far better on Jane than Wammy.

"You will be striking tomorrow evening before our art thief gets the chance to." He said coolly. "You'll be stealing the Guggenheim's 45 million dollar _Degas._ "

* * *

_comments are very encouraging!_


	4. The Cat Burglar Pt. 2

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* * *

**_New York City, New York_ **

**_Back Then_ **

_The Cat Burglar - P.2_

* * *

**_29 hours and 25 minutes remaining_ **

"I've arranged so that the laser grids and cameras in the area to be turned off for thirteen minutes exactly. If necessary, I will be able to stall the cameras for an additional two minutes, but the grids will automatically reinstate themselves. Prepare yourself for that." L's voice said to her through the earrings that she wore, which actually held small microphones embedded in the gold. _An actual hearing device would make our true thief far too suspicious if they encounter you. You must come off as an amateur._

"What about the guards?" Jane asked quickly, her gaze quickly counting up the amount of cars that were still in the Guggenheim's parking lot afterhours - it might as well have been still open. "There'll be at least three times as many walking security officers in the museum."

"Improvise." He said shortly.

"Improvise? That's all you got? I might as well try and fight them." She said, alarmed and on the spot over the possibility that he might not have thought of this. _Or he just wanted to see what I'd do,_ her less used analytical mind countered, conjuring up the image of L as a scientist, running simulations on holographic versions of herself - all too curious and all too bold. This was the first time in a case ( _well, of the now two she'd joined in on_ ) that he was allowing her to lead or make her own decisions - in Brazil, he'd controlled every action she made after she was placed as a maid. But now, he was asking her to improvise after putting her in an impossible-to-predict situation.

"I wouldn't, if I were you. This may primarily be a thief, but I have no doubt they'd be more skilled in a brawl than you, whose best fighting skills come from wrestling twelve year old's." _That's more like it,_ she thought bemusedly, even as she was handed a line by Mr. Wammy, and was faced with needing to jump the daunting distance below.

"Thirteen minutes, Jane." Were L's last words to her - she heard the distinct sound of a click, and she felt distinctly colder as she readied herself.

"Land with your feet flat." Wammy's voice advised loudly. "Try not to lean forward, it will affect your landing. On your way, now."

/~/

Once inside, Jane was feeling pretty confident.

The window had been open just like L said, and the adrenaline was rushing through her as she slipped inside - when her feet touched the ground, it was like she could fly. Until ten seconds later, when she heard the echoing steps of someone in the winding hall behind her - shooting ice into her veins as her mind doubled over telling her to ' _pick it up, pick it up, pick it up!'_ as the sound of the heavy footsteps echoed closer to her.

 _So that's the purpose of this outfit,_ an intrusive thought popped into her head while she pushed herself to a sprint through the corkscrew shaped building, of the skin-tight black suit that felt suction-cupped to her skin. _It breathes while I'm running for my dear life._

Jane's eyes flickered from what stood ahead of her to the identifying signs on the glaringly white walls - _from your entrance, go up two floors_ , L's orders came through her mind as she skidded to a stop in front of the room filled with famous, massive _Degas_. The only trouble, was there were two entrances to his wing.

_Go through the mmhm entrance._

Shit.

Of all the times for her brain to buzz out.

A sudden, loud noise to her left made the decision for her. It startled her into rushing forward into the closest entrance. The right-hand side. The passing of a pair of heavy footsteps ensured that she would linger, hidden behind the farthest wall from the open archway to the hall. She had effectively trapped herself - if that guard happened to enter through that archway, she was a goner - forced to 'improvise' at last minute.

Jane pressed herself flatter against the wall, in the middle of two huge pieces, with one digging into her shoulder as she tried her best to blend into it's frame - trying to avoid being forced to act on her own until it was literally the only thing she could do.

Luckily, or perhaps thanks to L's well-thought out plan, that was not in the cards for her.

Because just when she saw the light of a flashlight pointed in through the archway, a firm hand griped her shoulder and yanked her backward - she could only be so proud that she didn't scream - though that was more thanks to the second hand that had clasped itself over her mouth.

" _Be quiet_." A female voice hissed lowly in her ear, the sound making the short, baby hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up as the woman behind her yanked her back, away from the possible sight of the guard - Jane stumbled and stepped on the thief/her rescuers foot, making the other woman grunt, but unsuccessful in the attempt to get her to let go.

So, the two were forced to remain still and dead silent - Jane looking with a baited breath as the security guard moving his stream of light this way and that - until finally, thankfully, the light moved away, and the heavy footsteps continued on down the hall, leaving the two women to stay quiet until the steps were too far away to hear.

"You picked a mighty time to attempt a breaking and entering, girl." The other woman finally said, after a few long minutes of listening.

"You're one to talk, Selina Kyle." Jane retorted without thinking, before breaking herself out of the other's grip and sharply twisting so that she (and the hidden camera with a direct line to L) could reveal the identity of their cat burglar. They stood nearly head to head, both blonde. The thief's hair was extremely straight, and platinum in color. Her face was hidden partially by a pair of narrow sunglasses, but her features read caucasian, and her mouth was painted a slick, red. _Not far off for a Catwoman costume, actually. She's even dressed in leather._

"That's cute, coming from the girl who almost got herself caught." Selina Kyle replied coolly, her sunglasses making her expression appear all that more judgmental and severe.

"I was _not_ almost caught!" She defended quickly, feeling all too young and clumsy besides the professional thief.

The older woman scoffed. "Oh, my bad, of course you weren't." Then, she seemed to remember where they were, and what little amusement Jane could see in her face, disappeared. "If you want the luxury of leaving this museum without handcuffs, follow me and keep quiet. No questions, do you understand?" Selina then silently grabbed her wrist, without waiting for any reply or agreement, forcing her to walk quickly to follow her long strides.

The platinum blonde was quickly on track to joining her freshly-created list of people who had a slap coming to them, as she reluctantly followed.

Kyle moved confidently and silently - and either didn't care about the cameras, or had made similar arrangements to L to have them shut down.

"Where are we going?" Jane whispered, only receiving an irritated, "Tch," In return, for violating the ' _no questions,_ ' order she'd been given.

 _Has she already stolen a painting? She doesn't have anything on her, and it's not like she could hide anything in that catsuit,_ she thought, glancing out of the corner of her eye where she knew one of L's installed cameras were, and wondered if he was watching her right now, suddenly all too aware that the speaker in her earring was remaining dead silent.

**_29 hours and 15 minutes remaining_ **

"Don't lose sight of her." L ordered, his eyes devouring the screen as the two women moved throughout the winding Guggenheim museum.

He'd been correct in his assessment that their Doe would be able to create enough of a rapport with their thief in order to gain their trust, or at least their pity. It had been a risk - the fact that that their thief used a third party to forge the video footage could have meant anything. But it was a risk that would have benefitted them regardless. Either the thief would approach Jane, or they wouldn't - if they hadn't, they could continue their theft, under the watchful view of his secretly installed cameras, or they'd become spooked and abandon the museum, which would leave plenty of room for mistakes.

But L couldn't help but be pleased that his preferred situation was moving along. It gave him the ability to watch Jane's reactions and movements in real time, to watch how she behaved under stress and while temporarily working side-by-side with a criminal. It was actually fascinating to observe her in contact with someone other than a resident of Wammy's - something he hadn't had much time to do in Rio.

She was clearly on edge, no surprise in a situation like hers. But other than the uncertainty no doubt felt, she was behaving remarkably well, allowing herself to be dragged along by their thief through the winding Guggenheim.

L followed his installed cameras, and twisted a knob, increasing the volume of the attached audio in Jane's bugged clothing.

 _"If you don't tell me where we're going, how am I supposed to help?"_ Jane hissed quietly to the other woman as they stopped at a crossroads.

 _"Help?"_ The thief replied, sounding amused. _"You're not helping me. You're lucky enough that I'm getting you out, girl."_

Their Doe returned that with a scoff, and tore her arm out of the other's grip. _"And what makes you think that I want to get out without anything for myself?"_

 _"Try the 7-Eleven down the street, sweetheart."_ The thief retorted coolly. _"You're in over your head - you'll never get out of this museum with anything but dust on your shoes."_

 _"Then you should've thought twice about involving me - and showing your face. So let's skip all of that 'if you don't let me help, I'll rat you out to the police' bit, ok!"_ Jane was heated, and more importantly - convincing. Her fiery expression relaxed then, as the pale-haired thief stared down at her - nothing visible on her partially concealed face. _"Tell me how I can help. You've been the one, right? From the past three nights? You're taking something else - I can help."_ She insisted, sounding to his ears only just desperate enough to make the possibilities a coin flip.

Either she would say yes or no.

A yes would lead them precisely to her location, and the stolen paintings.

A no could mean he was wrong in his assessment of their culprit, and even put a risk on Jane's life.

The thief lowered her chin and recaptured Jane's shoulder in her gloved hand, finally saying a lilted, _"Very well - as long as you_ stay quiet _and follow me."_

L viciously scooped the cheesecake into his mouth. Of course, the teenager was a very talented chess player - the odds were in his favor, despite his habit of gambling on those odds, no matter how small the margin was of his success. But it seems that friendship dealt a quite deal in wanting the other half of that friendship to stay alive and well - for his own peace of mind. _I'll have to strive for an even larger margin of success with Jane accompanying me,_ he decided, watching as his friend and the criminal moved throughout the Guggenheim.

**_28 hours and 59 minutes remaining_ **

Movement occurred quickly after her induction into Selina Kyle's plan.

It appeared that she'd already stolen the very painting that Jane herself was meant to take - it was covered up in drapes and bubble wrap, arranged by two larger women in security uniforms. Jane memorized their name tags and took notice of their tattoos and piercings, even as the cameras in her clothes took in their faces. It was like a well-oiled machine, there wasn't a single stop in motion as the painting moved from the security officers to the back of a delivery truck. They'd created a perfect system to get the painting out from beneath the Guggenheim's noses.

The blonde couldn't see the driver of the truck - but she didn't have too much time to investigate before Selina Kyle climbed smoothly into the back, following after the painting.

Jane had no choice but to join her. Cracking down on them would be no use without the three other paintings. _If they're even still in the country,_ she thought as the truck shuttered shut, the only light coming from the cellphone in Selina Kyle's hand.

That was the other thing - the identity of their cat burglar. Her sunglasses were playing the part of those black masks that superheroes wore - giving some level of anonymity while she worked.

 _But with this many others in on these heists, she at least has given them an alias. If L is right, and she's part of the underworld, an alias could hold a lot of weight, especially for fresh recruits who would want their safety insured above all else. She's talented, well-trained, and has the trust of the others here - at least where the works are concerned,_ Jane thought, peering up at the small opening where their driver - another woman, was taking them to their next destination. _I have to get her to give me at least one of her aliases._

_I can bullshit my way into anything._

"So what do they call you?" Jane asked, flinching at her awkward wording. Lucky it was dark.

"Hmm?"

"I mean," she shifted closer to the dark shadow of the painting, the hard metal of the truck floor digging into her tailbone. "Who are you? I've kinda just been calling you Catwoman in my head this whole time."

A zippo was flicked, the metallic ' _shink'_ accompanying the sudden burst of light across the truck bed. The other woman was closer than she remembered her being - now they were basically side by side. The small flame lit the pale end of a cigarette, which burned hot with embers.

"Wedy." The name came forth with a light cloud of nicotine-scented smoke. "And what about you, rookie? What do they call you?" Wedy asked, holding out her gloved hand, offering her the cigarette that she'd just lit. Jane had never smoked a cigarette before. Roger and Wammy were both pipe smokers, and there were never any cigarettes around the house.

With no prompting from L on her name, she could only offer the truth, "My name is Jane," before taking the offered cigarette, attempting to mimic the way Wedy handled it in between her fingers. The inhale tickled her throat uncomfortably, and she couldn't help her coughing fit, puffs of smoke bursting out of her mouth like a choo-ing steam train.

Wedy laughed, the first show of true emotion since they'd met (though it still had that lilt of arrogance, tainting the sound). "You didn't need to accept it if you aren't a smoker, Jane."

Jane hurriedly swiped away the hot tears that had peaked in her eyes from her coughing fit. "'Cuse me for being polite."

The cat burglar paused, her cool laughter fading away as she appeared to narrow in on something on her face. Then, Wedy reached forward, her gloved thumb swiping suddenly at her bottom lip - surprising the other blonde into stillness. It was such a strange, out-of-nowhere action - that, coupled with the nonviolence of it, was puzzling.

"Why did you - ?" Jane began to ask, toned down.

"My lipstick. It was on your mouth from the cigarette." Wedy explained shortly, returning to that iciness she'd held in the museum.

The truck's movement came to a stop, and the leather-clad thief rose up sharply as the shutters rose up, revealing the first men of the evening. There were two of them, and they looked to be completely identical, dressed in blue suits and thin, silver frames. Wedy openly appeared to dislike them - her entire body had stiffened, a sure difference from the woman of just a few minutes ago.

"Who's the girl?" The man on the left said. He had more of a beard than the twin on the right.

"Was there a problem?" The man on the right asked - he didn't seem to care about her presence at all.

"She's my delicious little sidekick." Wedy replied neutrally, dropping down out of the truck. "You don't remember her, boys?"

"No, we don't." The one on the left replied for the both of them - eying Jane as she slipped out of the truck.

"That's too bad for you then. Here's your prize, boys. Now, like we discussed, I'll be leaving and never seeing you two again." The platinum blonde replied coolly, hooking her arm around her on her way to the door.

"Not so fast." One of the twins said, like he'd known it would come to this. "We've had a good relationship this past week, Wedy, it's true, even with all of that unpleasantness at first... But, you understand how we can't simply let you go now, can we?"

The two men shifted, reaching their hands to their hips.

"No honor amongst thieves, is that right?" Jane said sharply, unable to help herself as they removed their guns - even loading them with shiny bullets in front of them. _L, you better get a move on,_ she thought grimly, the muscles in her stomach tensing as she took a step back with Wedy.

"No." They agreed in unison. Then, the bearded one spoke, "I'm afraid you - and your little 'sidekick' are liabilities, Wedy. You're talented, of course, we would never doubt that. But your - disdain for us never went unnoticed. We know you've been staging these thefts to try and get us caught - even trying to get L on our heels. We were never going to forget and forgive."

 _So she had been hired on_ , Jane thought, tensing as they pointed their guns at them. Wedy's grip on her arm tightened. _But L was still right even despite that - she was blackmailed instead of paid, and was purposely trying to get caught while still successfully keeping to her side of the deal. She knew that if L did get involved, he'd find that these two were the ones who were actually responsible. Wedy was ten times smarter than these idiot twins._

And L?

"Get down. We're coming through the windows."

Probably fifty times.

The twins clicked off their safety's, and the sound prompted Jane to tackle Wedy onto ground, gaining an outraged shout and smack to her ear for her trouble. Behind her, the blackened windows exploded, and glass sprayed everywhere, like confetti. The rush of noise came afterwards. The NYPD, dozens of them, stormed through the broken windows, crushing the glass beneath their boots as they shouted demands of the twins to drop their weapons and to fall to floor.

Wedy gripped her collar then, forcibly shoving her back, while still holding onto her tight. Her sunglasses had fallen off, revealing intense, green eyes. "You're L." She accused, her chest heaving, not raising herself up despite the broken glass they were surrounded with.

"Strike one. I'm more Bruce than Batman, sorry Selina." Jane retorted. The police behind them had finally got the twins on their knees, their guns forcibly taken and unloaded. They'd be next.

Lucky her that she could recognize Wammy's long, grey mustache from a mile away.

"Follow my lead and keep quiet, got it?" She said to Wedy, unable to resist. "If you're lucky, you'll get outta here without handcuffs."

* * *

_**sorry that took awhile, i moved!** _


End file.
